Photo by linin P. Albrecht 



Tiip; PASS OF TRE cRoci (thre;e crosses) at sunset 



This pass leads up to Falzarego Pass, which is one of eight breaks in the mountains 

 between Itah' and Austria through which highroads and railroads have been buiU. Wagon 

 roads cross the Stelbio Pass, Tonale Pass, Lodrone Pass, Brenta Pass, Falzarego Pass, and 

 the pass leading from Udine to the Isonzo River. A railroad crosses the border following 

 the Adige River and another at a point between Pontafel and Pontebba. All these passes 

 were extensively fortified in recent years. 



as well as from the solid land, by sand- 

 dunes, like gigantic dams ; but there are 

 great portals opened seaward by which 

 ships can reach the free Adriatic. Porto 

 di Lido. Malainocco, Porto del tre Porti 

 are the names of these three outlets. 



The lagoons cover a superficies of more 

 than 170 square miles; the sea-walls 

 alone, which are erected to ward off the 

 sea close to Palestrina, are over 18,000 

 feet long and more than 40 feet thick and 

 30 feet high. 



At Porto di Lido the soft sands are 

 covered with stunted shrubs, and little 

 trembling grasses grow close to the edge 

 of the sea that washes over them Avith its 

 encroaching waves. The waters are dark 

 as blue steel ; the great steamer disap- 

 pears on the misty horizon and the light 

 bark returns homeward with its sail flut- 



tering in the wind. We gaze out into the 

 boundless expanse. Far away a white- 

 winged seagull is circling, but at length 

 it, too, is lost to sight in the infinite dis- 

 tance. 



In front of the little o^tcria (tavern) 

 which stands on the Lido, and under the 

 green acacias bedecked with colored lan- 

 terns, revelry goes on deep into the night. 

 There the merry boatmen drmk and 

 laugh until the last bark pushes off from 

 the Lido and returns homeward across 

 the flowing lagoon, which at flood tide 

 rises nearly 6 feet. A distant music en- 

 chants our ears as we land at the piaz- 

 zetta. It is the gondoliers upon the Canal 

 Grande singing their old songs — songs 

 which have never yet been written down 

 by a stranger's hand, but which live in 

 the memories of the people. 



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